Little Moments
by coffeeandcommunity
Summary: Ashley reflects on everything that's brought her here, and the one thing she did right: love Spencer. Fluffy post-series finale oneshot, somewhat disregards the final webisode. Spashley. More detailed summary inside.


**A/N: Post-series finale oneshot, basically just fluff. Ashley, second POV. A few angsty Ashley moments, but that's to be expected. Spoilers for the series finale, somewhat disregards the final webisode. Spashley, what else? This is a femslash story, so if that's not your thing either open your mind or hit the "back" button. This is just a little something I've had kicking around in my head for a while, and I finally decided to write it. Also, this is my first time writing these characters, so I'm sorry if they come across OOC. Read, review, and be completely honest!**

**Disclaimer: **"South of Nowhere" and all of its associated copyrighted material (characters, music, etc.) are the property of The-N and Viacom, and other respective owners. All other references in this story are the property of their owners. This work is an interpretation of the original show/characters and is intended for entertainment purposes only, not profit, and constitutes fair use. In other words, please do not sue unless you would like to assume thousands of dollars in student loan debt. Yeah, didn't think so.

**Summary: **Ashley reflects on everything that's brought her here, and on the one thing she did right: love Spencer.

**Little Moments**

You know you're lucky as you stand in the doorway and watch your wife and little girl. Lucky because, after all the stupid things you've done, you never deserved this life. But ironically, the one thing you did right actually saved you, and gave you a life this good and a love this strong. Loving Spencer saved your life.

Not that it was easy. Quite the opposite, actually. The easy part was working up the courage to give her that key. You'd never really lived with someone before, since you and Christine lived in separate wings of the mansion and Kyla partied so much you never saw her. Spencer was always there, and while most of the time you wanted it that way, sometimes you felt suffocated knowing she was at home waiting for you. For the most part however, you buried your inner demons, and Spencer slowly taught you how to keep them from resurrecting themselves.

Because even though it seemed smothering at times (very fleeting times, really), it felt _good _every other time. Knowing that she cared if you made it home okay, that (film projects notwithstanding) she'd have dinner waiting on you when you came home late from the studio, even just Chinese takeout. Knowing that she didn't push you away when you interfered with her plans, or use you to figure out what she wanted. Spencer actually planned her life around you, _with_ you. That always amazed you most.

Then there were the fights. Not at all like high school, when Spencer pleaded and clung and you promised and pulled away. These held much more intensity, became much more real. Screaming, slamming doors, storming out. You calling Spencer on her crap and Spencer never backing down. You two agreed that either of you could leave to get much-needed space, but only if you always returned night. Even to sleep on the couch or sit pouting at the kitchen table. You also agreed to settle things before going to bed, or at least make progress. Not necessarily make it better, but at least get everything out in the open. Many mornings you and Spencer climbed to your building's roof and watched the sunrise after sharing an entire night of tears and fears. More often than not, Spencer stormed out angry, leaving you in her wake. You spent too many years running away from your problems, and from Spencer, to keep doing it now. You remember clearly the first fight like this, when Spencer made the decision between UCLA and Worthington. You bottled it up because you didn't know how to make her understand, and then you knew exactly how she felt when you pulled this crap in high school.

She began patiently teaching you to cook Italian toward the end of her sophomore year, on a lazy Saturday afternoon that brought two startling revelations. Spencer standing behind you, hands on your hips while you stirred and sauteed, felt incredible, and you both deemed the results edible, better than anything you ever did alone. After lunch, Spencer placed the dishes in the sink, slowly washing and rinsing before handing them to you, while you dried and put them away. You cast a sideways glance at Spence, blonde hair thrown into a messy ponytail, wearing a cami and your boxers, intently washing the pots and plates, and two different thoughts struck you almost simultaneously. The first, "when did we get so domestic?" It scared you because you swore you'd never be one of those couples (even though it's not exactly a secret that you're a hopeless romantic), and because you never grew up with anything domestic. Your parents just screamed at each other until Dad left, and Christine never cared about doing anything around the house (job security for the help, she always said). Then in later years, the multiple stepfathers really only wanted the Davies millions.

The second thought (oddly liberating, but still terrifying), "I could do this for the rest of my life." You knew you'd love her forever; you never denied that. But now just standing in the kitchen doing dishes with her was enough. Not that you didn't love the way you woke her up most mornings, kissing her whole body over, or falling asleep to the feel of her bare skin against yours, still buzzing from pleasure. You couldn't live without those, but just standing next to her in the silence, finally comfortable in the love you shared, seemed almost as good. It made you realize you needed to build a future with her. You'd built a life with her in the present, but now you wanted more. That argument over breakfast at Egocentric, when you asked if you were her first or her forever, you knew it even then. But with both of you barely eighteen, and pulled in so many different directions, all you really wanted was her, any way possible.

It took you a year to work up the nerve. All that time, you dropped more hints about being with her in ten, twenty more years. Once the shock faded, her bright blue eyes shined with hope and unending love. You wanted to do something big, like fly her to Paris. She'd love it, no doubt, but you noticed that she enjoyed more the little things, like sitting on the rooftop watching the sunset or watching you sleep. So you set a path of pink and yellow rose petals from the living room to the roof with little notes consisting of various lyrics from "Dirty Mind." She called your name, and her curious grin gave way to a bright smile when she saw you, guitar in hand and surrounded by candles and an Italian spread that you finally cooked on your own.

The two of you ate and talked, and she reflected that you fascinated her even when she barely knew you, from that first moment in your bedroom when your hands brushed, the electric spark stronger than either of you had ever known. She mentioned that her first real insight came the night after that stupid dance, when the two of you talked in the car and went (along with the lovable douche Aiden) to that deserted cliff, and you showed her all of LA. Suddenly you wanted ask her there, even though you already laid everything out on the rooftop. You asked her to follow you, told her you wanted to take her somewhere. She did her adorable little head tilt and agreed, confused and intrigued.

You drove in the dark toward the outskirts of LA, the city skyline in your rearview. She watched out the window at the lights flying past, all the while holding your hand. You used to hate when she did that, but then you found yourself reaching out for her across the gearshift. Once you finally arrived, she opened the door and looked out over the city, a small smile on her face as she leaned against the car.

"We never did dance that night," you murmured and took her in your arms, swaying to a song that existed only in your minds. You pulled back and tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear, smiling even through the shaking. "I've got something to ask you..."

You reached for your guitar (that you thankfully remembered to bring) and sat on the old wooden railing, and began to sing. "She woke from her dream, her head was on fire, why was she so nervous?" Her face wore that endearing mix of confusion and adoration you swear she reserves just for you, and you saw her listening intently to the song. Your mind wandered, wondering how many people used this song to propose, and how cheesy did this make you?

"Someday somebody's gonna ask you a question that you should say yes to, once in your life, baby tonight I've got a question for you..." Realization dawned and you saw her eyes blazing, full of love, passion, and wild hope. You set the guitar down and fumbled in your front pocket, finally producing the one-carat platinum diamond ring. Her hands flew to her face and she listened to you ramble about how much you loved her and how much she changed your life. Finally you asked her, and cried when she said yes. She cried watching the news the next morning, which carried breaking news on the repeal of Proposition 8.

You married a year and a half later (after she finished film school) at the beach, specifically the pier under which the two of you had that life-changing conversation. Mr. C's beaming pride when he gave her away, and Paula's tear-filled eyes, all gave you completion that you never even dared to dream of before.

About two years later you noticed Spencer's wistful gaze each time she saw a baby or small child, and it terrified you. Even though you wanted a little Spencer running around, you just didn't think you could do it without screwing up the kid for life, providing the kid even made it that far. Knowing you, the kid might starve to death or something. You always denied it, but in all honesty you wanted one more than anything. Ever since the miscarriage, you wanted a second chance.

When you and Spencer finally talked about it, she insisted that you carry the first. You tried to play it off, but she claimed that the night of the dance, the pain in your eyes when you talked about the miscarriage broke her heart. You used Spencer's egg and Aiden for a donor, and everything seemed okay until the third month, when Spencer walked in the bedroom and found you screaming in pain.

Experiencing it a second time made it easier and harder, in a way. Easier because you were older and Spencer stayed with you every step of the way. She held you while both of you cried, and that's what made it harder. You wanted this baby so much more than you did at fifteen, and you wanted the chance to give Spencer a child. You lost it for a few weeks, because karma bit you in the ass once again, every mistake causing you to lose chances you never deserved anyway.

It only grew worse when the attending gynecologist discovered stage 2 endometriosis, which caused the miscarriage. The first baby you lost triggered it. You endured injections, pills, and laparoscopic surgery to get yourself healed. It's an ongoing process that still requires daily medication. The doctor said that patients spontaneously got pregnant all the time, even with the odds against them. Even still, she acknowledged that the chances of you successfully carrying a child to term weren't good.

She didn't talk about it for a year, but you knew she wanted to try again. You mentioned one night, while working on the chord progression for the latest song kicking around in your head, that you were open to the possibility. She turned away from FinalCutPro beaming, and crawled across the couch to kiss you, trapping you there for a good hour. The next morning, while lying in bed, she kissed your temple and mentioned something she heard from Lily's friends about a new procedure that created sperm cells from stem cells. When you looked at her blankly, she translated the science speak into human: you could make your own baby, from both your DNA. She laughed at your expression of pure wonder, and called to make an appointment.

It took three tries, but finally Spencer got pregnant. Life changed completely, every experience heightened by the little life growing inside her. The littlest things sent your heart into overdrive, like holding her at night and cradling your hands protectively over her stomach. Her sex drive ratcheted up and surpassed yours, and Kyla and Glen both laughed at you when you came to Carlin family dinners nearly collapsing from exhaustion. You started discussing names, and quickly settled on Shea for a boy. Most people use it for girls now, but you always liked it for a boy. That was the name you gave your imaginary friend when you were four, and Spencer teased you for days after you told her. Girl names proved harder to agree on, because you wanted something other than Emma or Ava, something fitting the daughter of a musician and a filmmaker. Spence, however, didn't want a kid named Apple or Coco, so it took weeks to agree.

The ultrasound revealed a baby girl, and finding the right name became even more important. Spencer discovered it one night while searching iTunes, looking for the right song for a scene in her latest documentary. Somehow she found Skye Sweetnam's artist page, and asked what you thought of the name Skye. You loved it; not too common, but still vaguely familiar. Soon after that, Spencer's nesting phase kicked in and the two of you converted Kyla's old bedroom in the loft into a nursery, painted a beautiful plum color with black and lavender accents. Perfect choice, since you both had purple bedrooms; yours almost a pomegranate color and Spencer's at her parents' house a shade of lavender. Very fitting, since she's the light to your dark in so many ways, yet you're still a direct reflection of each other.

She went into labor three weeks before her due date, and you were terrified. For her safety, and the baby's. For the baby, because you really didn't know how to raise a kid without screwing up everything. For your relationship with Spencer, wondering how it might change, for better or worse. Paula and Arthur stayed with you and Spencer in the delivery room, and Spencer kept a death grip on your hand. Even though you seriously doubted you'd ever play guitar again, there was nowhere else you'd rather be. Even if it killed you to see her in so much pain.

After the longest ten hours of both of your lives, Skye Lindsey Carlin-Davies entered the world at three in the morning, crying loudly. Spence looked over at you, "listen Ash, she's got your lungs." Everyone laughed, and you grinned as the doctor, the same one that treated you through the miscarriage and multiple treatments and surgeries, handed you the squirming little girl. Skye calmed almost instantly at the sound of your voice, and you noted that Spencer was right, Skye heard you singing to her all along. You walked over to Spencer, knelt on the bed, and said, "Mommy, somebody wants to meet you." Spencer's blue eyes glowed with fresh tears, and you saw in them love deeper than the ocean. You never imagined loving Spencer any more, yet looking at Skye made your love for her stronger than ever before.

It's been three months since that day, and everything's changed. From the things you trip over in the dark (baby toys instead of bras) to your schedule (your late-night partying habits actually prepared you to deal with the sleeplessness) to the way you see the world (full of unending possibilities instead of ready to kick your ass yet again). Glen and Aiden already argued over who gets to run off boys, until you stepped in and said you could handle that just fine. Chelsea painted a beautiful canvas for her room, Kyla bought her little Coach keychains for her diaper bag, and Paula and Mr. C put a crib in Spencer's old room for her. She's grown and changed so much, and you think now, for first time in your life, that you feel worthy of this kind of love. You don't deserve it, but it's here, and Spence and Skye give it so willingly.

"Ash? Babe, you okay?" Spencer's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and there's an indentation in your shoulder from leaning against the doorframe so long. You nod and crawl across the bed to sit next to Spencer, both of you leaning against the headboard, bathed in the low lamplight. She's got her knees pulled in toward her chest, and Skye laying propped up on her thighs. Lately Skye's wanted to play after being fed, so you lean over and lightly tickle her little stomach, earning a big smile. Spencer mentioned last week that she inherited your smile, with the nose crinkle that helps you get her to give in to anything, and you finally see it with your own eyes. You look over at Spencer with the same exact smile, and she just laughs. She lightly runs her hand over Skye's forehead, brushing back the already curly dark brown hair. You lean down to kiss her forehead, and Skye meets your eyes for just a moment before yawning. You laugh and offer to put her to bed, picking her up and carrying her into the nursery. You change Skye and take off her "this is my little black dress" onesie, trading it for her "I'm with the band" sleeper. Spencer picked out the first one, and Kyla gave her the second, claiming that Raife Davies's granddaughter would _not_ wear frills and lace.

You sing to her the whole time, and when you lay her down in the crib she blinks sleepily a few times before staring up at you with bright, endless innocent blue eyes. Immediately you think of Spencer at sixteen, and how much that innocence intrigued you. You always thought her honesty and openness came from a small-town naivete, but you learned over the years that it was just Spencer. Her inner beauty radiates every time she smiles and she handles even the most heartbreaking things with such grace. Skye may have your smile, but somehow you just _know_ she'd get Spencer's head tilt. So much for your dignity. She'll have you whipped in no time. Hell, she already does.

You return to your room to find Spencer changing into a tank and your boxers (some things never change), and you strip down to your black bra and boyshorts to curl under the covers. She slides in beside you and pulls you close, your head resting on her chest, leg slung across her hips and your arm across her stomach. Her hand threads through your hair, and you're almost asleep when she asks, "What were you thinking about earlier? You stood there for like, ten minutes."

You look up at her, the slight smile playing on her lips. "You," you reply as you lean up and kiss her softly. "And Skye. How lucky I am, that I finally did something right."

"Ash-," she starts, but you cut her off with a quick kiss. "It's just that...of all the mistakes I've made, sometimes I can't believe I actually made it here, you know?"

She nods slightly before pressing a kiss into your hair, "I love you sooo much Ash. I love just _being _with you, even doing stupid things like laundry or watching TV."

You settle back into her arms and think about her words. You realize that those times, when you can just _be, _are the ones you enjoy more. More than the private rooftop dinner for your anniversaries, more than your big elaborate plans. It's these moments when you love her the most.

"Love you too, Spence," you mumble sleepily, turning slightly to kiss her bare shoulder. "And I love those little moments, too."


End file.
